Shocking Pink (15 page)

L
eah Robertson’s murder rocked Thistledown to its core. These kinds of things didn’t happen in this sleepy little burg. This was a good place to live; a safe place to raise a family. Happy Hollow was an upper-middle-class neighborhood; Andie Bennett, Raven Johnson and Julie Cooper were
nice
girls from good families—not the type of girls who got involved in something like
this.

But they
had
gotten involved. The public was outraged; they were frightened. They wanted an arrest. A suspect to pin their fears and fury on.

The citizens of Thistledown, Missouri, didn’t want to be afraid anymore. They didn’t want to have to look nervously over their shoulders and dog their teenage daughters’ every step. And they didn’t want to have to worry about a sex freak and murderer walking their streets, looking for another victim.

Problem was, a week had passed since the murder, and Nick and his fellow detectives had nothing. No arrest. No prime suspect—other than the mysterious Mr. X, and he had disappeared, as if by magic.

Captain James Randall, big-town cop recently transplanted to small-town Thistledown in search of a better life for his family, was not pleased about that fact, not pleased at all. Right now his usually pleasant face was twisted into a mask of fury and frustration.

This one was personal—the police commissioner’s wife was the victim. And Nick knew, shit rolled downhill. In truth, his only surprise was that it had taken a week to reach him. He had been expecting some version of this since the moment he realized that Mrs. X was none other than Leah Robertson.

“Who the hell do you think you are, Raphael?” the captain demanded. “The Lone Ranger, for God’s sake?”

Nick, flanked on either side by Peters and Nolan, faced his captain’s ire, unflinching. “No, sir.”

“No, sir,” the man repeated. “Then what the hell were you thinking the night of the tenth? You respond to a late-night call from a teenager about a possible homicide, without calling in. You enter the scene without backup. You put your life, the kid’s life and this investigation at risk.”

“Yes, sir. Bad call, sir.”

But the captain wasn’t finished with his tirade—not nearly, judging by his angry flush. “Bad call? Sweet Jesus, Raphael. The radio. You finally decide to use it, and you mention that the victim is Commissioner Robertson’s wife. You mention there are teenage girls involved.

“Didn’t it occur to you, Raphael, that the department might have liked to prepare a story for the press? Didn’t it occur to you how embarrassing this would be for Dick Robertson and the entire department, that perhaps we would have liked our version to hit the streets first, to cushion the blow? Didn’t it occur to you how sensitive this issue would be or that the press would jump on it like flies on dog shit? The
National
Fucking
Enquirer
has already run a piece!”

The captain placed his palms on the desk and rose slightly, easing toward Nick, looking for all the world as if the top of his head was about to pop off. “Just
how
did you manage to make detective, rookie? You want to tell me, because right now I don’t have a clue.”

Peters jumped in. “He knows procedure, Captain. But he’s a cowboy, always trying for the big score, wanting all the glory. He should have called me or had dispatch notify me. I would have—”

Randall swung his angry gaze to Peters. “What
would
you have done, Peters? If you had checked out the kid’s story in the first place, Dick Robertson’s wife would, in all probability, still be alive and this town wouldn’t be in a complete panic.”

The detective’s already florid complexion reddened. “We don’t know that, Captain. We could have checked it out and found nothing.”

“Could have. But you didn’t. And you’re no rookie, Peters. And right now this department looks like we’ve got our heads up our asses. Dick Robertson wants a suspect and so do the citizens of this town. What do you have?”

Peters started off. “Leah Robertson’s wedding ring is missing. We’ve alerted all the pawn and secondhand shops within a hundred-and-fifty-mile radius, just in case.”

“It won’t show,” Nick said. “I’d bet my ass, this guy took it to remember her by. His personal trophy. This was no accident. No fun and games gone bad by mistake.” Nick stood and indicated the report on Randall’s desk. “May I?”

The captain nodded and Nick opened the folder and pulled out the crime-scene photos, flipping through to a close-up of Leah Robertson’s neck. “Check out the rope burns. See how different from the primary bruise?” He pointed to a dark, inverted V on the victim’s neck. “They indicate a kind of struggle, as if she twisted her head violently back and forth. The rope fibers embedded in the skin support our theory.”

“Which is?” The captain didn’t hide his impatience.

“That she knew something bad was about to happen before it did. That this S.O.B. taunted her first. He wanted her to know what was coming next. He wanted her to know that she was helpless to stop him.”

“Then he kicked the stool out from under her,” Nolan supplied. “Judging by the mark on the stool, he kicked it with considerable force.”

“Nothing accidental about that,” Peters added.

The captain scowled. “Is
this
what you want me to tell the press?”

“No, sir.” Nick cleared his throat. “I’ve got records doing a search for any like crimes committed in the last few years. We’re also checking known sex offenders in the area. We’re checking out anyone new to the area, anyone who’s arrived in the last six to eight months. Nobody wants to think this crime was committed by a friend or neighbor.”

“But they’re all secretly afraid it was.” Randall flipped the Robertson folder shut. “What about the kids?”

“Questioned repeatedly. Their stories all corroborate. Our suspect is tall, athletically built and has dark wavy hair. None got a look at his face. Or so they say.”

“You don’t believe them?”

Nick spread his hands. “It seems odd, that’s all. But this whole thing is odd. Plus, I don’t know what their motive would be for lying.”

“Talked to Jackson Sadler, of Sadler Construction, about the house,” Peters said. “Leah Robertson rented it two and a half months ago. A six-month lease. She approached them. Sadler’s son works for him. Talked to him, too.”

“David Sadler,” Nolan offered.

“Right,” Peters nodded. “He said the same thing.”

“They didn’t ask any questions?”

“None. You know the situation in this town. Sadler was grateful for the lease. She put down a security deposit and paid her rent on the first of every month.”

“He didn’t recognize her from the papers and wonder what she was up to?”

Nick shook his head. “An office grunt handled the transaction. Wrote the lease, the whole business. She said no, she didn’t recognize the commissioner’s wife. Only reads Dear Abby and the funnies, she said. Hates the news.”

“This is some mess.” The captain made a sound of frustration and ran a hand over his closely cropped hair. “The parents didn’t have a clue what the kids were up to?”

“None. They’re nice kids. Their parents trusted them.”

Nolan smirked. “They won’t make that mistake again, now, will they?”

Nick looked at Nolan in disgust, thinking of Andie and her friends. They had made a mistake, and they were paying a big price for it. A very big price.

The captain swore and stood. “And just what, out of this conglomeration of nothing that you have, do you clowns suggest I tell the press?”

“How about the truth?” Nick offered.

Randall swung toward him, eyes narrowed. “Watch it, Raphael. I still might bust you back to traffic detail. I ought to.”

Nick met the captain’s eyes evenly. “Then why don’t you?”

“Because I need you on this. All of you. But don’t push me.” Once again, he moved his gaze between the three detectives. “I’ll assure the mayor and citizens of Thistledown that we have the situation under control. In the meantime, I want you to get this sick bastard. I want a suspect. I don’t care if you have to work around the clock and turn this town upside down, I want this case solved. Got that?”

The man moved his gaze from one to the other, stopping on Nick. “Got that?” he said again.

Nick nodded and stood. “I’ll get him, Captain. If it’s the last thing I do, I’ll nail the bastard.”

R
aven sat on her bed, planning. She weighed her options carefully, weighed the consequences of each of her choices. The consequences of what she was about to do.

Her father had locked her in her room. In the days since Mrs. X’s murder, he had allowed her out only to speak with the police and use the bathroom. She had even had to eat meals in her room.

He thought he was so smart. So powerful. It was a joke. He thought he could make her his prisoner. He had forbidden her to see or speak with Andie and Julie, as if he could keep them apart. He had vowed to watch her every move, the way he had been forced to watch her mother. As if to prove his point, he had called Raven the same names: disloyal whore and cunt, liar. And he had struck her, the way he used to strike her mother, sharply, across the mouth.

But she wasn’t like her mother.

She wasn’t afraid of him.

Raven narrowed her eyes. It was he who should be frightened of her. She held the power of life and death in her hands. His life.

But he was too stupid and arrogant to see.

Just as the police were stupid. And arrogant. They had grilled her about Mr. X, about what she had seen. As if she would tell them anything. As if she would tell them she had seen his face. As if she would hand her teacher, her mentor, over to them.

Raven drew her knees to her chest and rocked back and forth, thinking of Mr. X, of his games. She understood power now. She understood control. And she would not be punished by the likes of her father. She would not be made a prisoner or be told who she could and could not see.

She was the only one who would have power over her own life.

The time had come. She had nothing to lose. Her family had been torn apart. Raven climbed off the bed and crossed to her dresser mirror. She gazed at her reflection, studying the purple bruise on her cheek, her swollen, bloodied mouth. More evidence. A dose of concrete reality to go along with her allegations.

She had an aunt in Chicago. Her mother’s sister, Aunt Katherine. Aunt Katherine had always hated Raven’s father. She had been the one who had insisted the police investigate Sandy Johnson’s disappearance, the one who had insisted the police question Ron Johnson. Though the police had never found any evidence of wrongdoing on his part, she had never made it a secret that she still thought him responsible for her sister’s disappearance.

She had no children of her own and lived in a big house on Lakeshore Drive. Raven had been careful to cultivate that relationship, knowing that someday, maybe, she would need her Aunt Katherine.

She needed her now.

Raven thought of Andie and Julie, her eyes welling with tears. They hadn’t been allowed to see each other or to speak since the night of the murder. She feared for Julie, feared the Good Reverend had delivered the worst he had to offer. She mourned for Andie, though she knew, of the three, her punishment would be the lightest. Within a month her mother would have all but forgotten her darling daughter’s wayward acts.

In three years they would graduate from high school. As planned, they would go to college together. They would be a family again.

Three years wasn’t that far away, she thought, turning and crossing to the window. She looked out. Her father had cut the branches off the tree outside the window. He had torn the trellis away from the side of the house. It was a two-story drop. If she jumped, she would very likely break her ankle. Or worse.

The young detective, she thought, eyeing the drop, the sympathetic one, she would go to him. She would weep into her hands and tell him how her father had killed her mother and buried her in the backyard. She would tell him how afraid she had been. Afraid to tell; afraid her father would do the same to her as he had done to her mother.

Mrs. X’s murder had shocked her out of her silence, she would say. She had realized that even if she kept silent, he could do it to her. Sobbing, she would mourn the loss of her mother. Her voice would tremble, her hands shake. And they would believe her. They would pity her.

And her father would, at long last, pay for his crimes.

Three years, she thought again, sliding the window up, climbing onto the ledge. Not that long at all. Not when they had the rest of their lives to be together.

Sucking in a quick, determined breath, she jumped.

W
ithin twenty-four hours of Raven’s tearful statement to the police, Ron Johnson, respected businessman and devoted father, was arrested for the murder of his wife, Sandy. A search warrant had been issued, the patio excavated. There, the police found all the evidence they would need to put the man away.

Just returning to some sort of normalcy after the Leah Robertson sex-and-murder scandal, Thistledown rocked with the news. Tongues wagged, heads shook, and even the most restrained Thistledownian couldn’t walk down the street without stopping now and then to express shock and outrage to an acquaintance. The summer of ’83 had given the once-quiet community something to talk about for years to come.

But of all the citizens of Thistledown, none was more stunned by the news about Ron Johnson than Andie. She couldn’t believe that her best friend’s father was a murderer. She felt betrayed by the fact that Raven had been able to keep such an important secret from her. Best friends knew each other completely; they were supposed to share everything.

For Andie, it was the final blow, the final piece of the puzzle that changed the picture of her future.

Julie was gone already. Whisked away by the Good Reverend to a place far from Thistledown, a place where she would not be tempted to stray from the path of righteousness again, whisked away without even a word to her friends.

Now she was losing Raven, as well.

Andie’s mother took pity on her and allowed her to say goodbye to her friend. Raven’s Aunt Katherine brought her by on their way to Chicago. Where Raven was going to live. A million miles away from Thistledown. Or so it seemed to Andie.

The two girls clung to one another, whispering, crying, two weeks’ worth of thoughts, fears and confidences spilling from them.

“How come you didn’t tell me about your dad?”

“I couldn’t. I was so scared.”

“Julie’s gone.”

“I know. He sent her somewhere. Did you get to say—”

“No.” Andie drew in a shuddering breath. “I’m worried about her. I’m afraid she—”

“The police haven’t found Mr. X.” Raven lowered her voice even more. “I heard they don’t have a single lead.”

“I’m so scared. He can’t get away with it. He can’t.”

“I’m going to miss you so much. I feel like I’m dying.”

“I don’t want you to go.” Andie started to cry. “It’s all my fault. I’m so sorry.”

Finally, Andie’s mother broke them gently apart. Andie was sure it was her heart that was breaking apart. If she could go back, take it back, she would. She had tried to help Mrs. X and all she had ended up doing was hurting the people she loved. Her mother and father, her brothers, Raven and Julie. Most of all Raven and Julie.

She would never stick her neck out like that again. Never.

“It’s okay, Andie.” They clasped hands. “We’ll be together again. I’ll make sure of it. We’re family, remember?”

“Write me every day. Okay?”

“I will.” Raven’s aunt eased her away from Andie, her own eyes filled with tears.

And then Raven was gone.